


Untitled

by leona_b



Category: One Direction (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:42:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leona_b/pseuds/leona_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A silly fic I wrote.  Involves tank tops, first aid kits and rooftop awkwardness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

_Fuck this._

He turns out of the room and paces down the corridor, the back of one hand sliding against the cool wall.  His eyes remain focused on that one sign, the artificial beacon of hope:

_EXIT_

No one calls for him, no footsteps slap the ground behind him.  He turns the corner and comes to a door, stopping for a minute to fumble in his pocket for his swipe card.  He can hear the fluorescent green sign buzzing above him, and the low mechanical sound of electricity being pumped through the entire building.  He needs only to hear one more sound that will signify his freedom: the two successive beeps that mean his card has successfully unlocked the door.  His fingers grasp desperately for the card, and he can feel the cold wave of dread beginning to flow through his stomach, up to his neck, flooding his head…

_FUCK!_

His back slams hard against the wall and he slides down it in a rush, the exposed bricks leaving angry red marks across his spine that will last for days.  He doesn’t feel angry, no, only his limbs feel heavy and sick.  He crouches on the ground with his head in his hands, pressing them into his skull until tiny dots dance across his eyes.  He watches them, but every time he tries to focus they dance away like they are avoiding his gaze.

“Harry?”

The dots dance away for good and now he sees only darkness.  And then he hears what he has been longing to hear all along, the beeps of the security system and the sound of a heavy door being pushed open.  He waits to hear it slam shut again, the weight of it shaking his body, but it doesn’t come.  He feels warm air blowing against his side, and he lifts his head.

Liam is standing at the door, watching him with hesitant eyes.  One arm is holding the door open, the other hanging awkwardly by his side.  He is wearing that stupid top, the one with big gaping wholes in the sides that show off half of his torso.

As if he has caught Harry looking, Liam glances self-consciously down at his body.  His arm twitches slightly and for a second he almost loses hold of the door.  They still haven’t spoken a word to each other.

Harry gets up slowly and walks to where Liam is standing.

“Idiot.” Harry says, smiling and shaking his head.

Liam shrugs his shoulders and follows him out onto the roof of the building.  It feels comfortable, one of those nights where the air is the same temperature as your skin.  It is empty apart from a couple of deck chairs, but it doesn’t feel lonely.  Harry soaks in the sheer space, the extent of the emptiness.  He stretches his arms…

Suddenly, there is a hand on his back.  His arms whip to his sides and swivels around quickly, only to find Liam looking sheepishly back at him.

“Your back…” he says,

“It’s bleeding.”

Harry folds his arm slowly around to his back, and is shocked to find that he can feel the warm liquid seeping through his shirt.

“Shit.” He says, still rubbing his back, looking at Liam.

“Would you…” Liam starts, his words trailing off and becoming as empty as the space surrounding them.  He can hear the cars whooshing past on the road, several stories below them.

“Let’s keep walking.” Harry offers, and he turns around and continues to cut across the roof.

Liam catches up, and Harry can hear the rustle of him unwrapping something in his hands.

“Hungry, Liam?” he asks,

“Uh, no… It’s just from my first aid kit.”

Harry turns to look at him.  He is fumbling with what looks like a bandaid.

“You carry a first aid kit around?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah.”

Harry looks at him in disbelief.

“You’re an idiot.”

He smiles, and Liam smiles back, still holding the bandaid in his hands.  He offers it to Harry.  A frown crosses his face as Harry takes it and puts it in his pocket.

“Are you alright?”

Harry walks over to the edge of the car park and peers down onto the road, several hundred feet below.

“Yeah, it’s just a scratch.” He responds.

Liam says nothing, but Harry knows he isn’t satisfied.  Why does he have to be so worried?  _Idiot._ Harry keeps his back turned.

“I’m just bored, Liam.  Maybe.  I don’t know.  I’m sick of waking up.  I’m sick of going to sleep.  I’m sick of everything.”

Harry is surprised at his own outburst, and is subdued into silence, his eyes transfixed on the moving lights of the cars.

He turns and faces Liam, and suddenly he’s laughing.

“Aren’t you cold?  You’re hardly wearing anything, for Christ’s sake.”

Liam stands still, his hands now in his pockets.

“I’m not cold Harry.  But if you are I can go and get my sweater for you?  I won’t be a sec…”

But Liam doesn’t move, though, he only stands there waiting for a response.  _Idiot._

“Oh god, Liam.  I hate everything, but I love _you.”_

The silence that follows this remark is the loudest Harry has ever heard.  Liam looks mildly shocked, and he starts to say something, probably something profusely polite, but what it was Harry never found out.  He moves quickly towards him and holds his hand over his mouth.  And then, he brings it down, his fingers lightly brushing against his jawbone.  Liam’s hands move to the same spot that they were only a few minutes ago, when Harry had almost winced at the touch on his back.

“Do you mind if I ki-“ Liam started, but before he had finished Harry pressed his lips on Liam’s.

_Idiot._


End file.
